Without Words
by SteadfastSonnet
Summary: FemSlash version of Kurogane and Fai set just before, during and after the 6 months they are alone in Yama. First person (Fai), present tense POV. Includes Female x Female relationship (but nothing particularly explicit), YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. (also: note that one section of the first chapter includes actual, slightly modified, lines from the manga translated by Be With You Scans)
1. Day 0: Yukata

"Is this all for us?"

The head priest nods, passing me and a tray laden with two matching yukatas, a bottle of opaque liquid and two small cups. I can't read the label (the writing system in Shara is much closer to Kurogane's than mine), but I am more than willing to bet it's sake. The priest's smirk as he assures us "there's more where that came from" if we're interested, confirms it.

"Thank you very much for your hospitality." I smile.

"It's no trouble at all." The priest smiles back. "Assisting travelers is my duty after all, and you two have certainly traveled a long way. Well then…" he nods and takes his leave, sliding the panel shut behind him.

I set the tray down on the tatami mat and hand Kuro her yukata before making my way to a corner to change. Once both our backs are turned (the unspoken rule we've observed since that first night sharing a room in the Hanshin Republic), I gratefully remove my thick cloak, fold it, and set it on the tatami, followed quickly by my blue coat. Next comes my over-shirt. It's white with blue trim around the collar, the sleeves and the hem at the bottom. The hem cuts across diagonally: the right side falls at hip height, while the left side ends mid-thigh. The shirt is fitted, so it takes a bit longer to remove, because the belts and hidden clasps at the side have to be loosened before I can get it over my head. With that off, though, everything else is much simpler, and soon I'm down to my final top layer: a lacy, white camisole. I've never worn a yukata before, so for a moment I debate removing the camisole too, but in the end it stays and I move on to pulling off my snow boots. I set them beside my cloak (briefly admiring the way the decorative white fringe at the top makes the two match perfectly), then remove my thermal leggings.

At this point I just give myself a moment to cool down from all the heat that inevitably gets trapped under so many layers. I love my clothes, I really do, but they are _not_ well suited for most of the world's we've visited thus far. There's a very good reason I'm always the first to suggest finding world-appropriate garb. When the room begins to feel a little chilly, I set to work unfolding the yukata. Once it's spread out, the shape bears a strong resemblance to my cloak, but based on what I saw in Outo it's supposed to work more like a dress. Going off this assumption, I put my arms thru the sleeves and wrap the blue fabric around myself as tight as I can. I attempt to hold it in place with my chin while I tie the black sash at the front, but it still comes lose a bit. After some fiddling, I get it to close around me well enough to keep my modesty intact. I decide that's going to have to be good enough, and turn around.

"Kuro-chama!" She looks up from unbraiding her long, black hair. "How do I look?" I do a quick spin and wink. She sighs and goes back to unbraiding. Even though she's no longer looking, my mouth automatically goes into a pout. "Meanie." Kuro chooses to ignore me. She's come to the end of her braid and is attempting to finger-comb her hair into order. Kuro's hair is straight like mine (though it's much, much longer), but she braids it often and tight enough that even after combing it out it retains a graceful wave for several hours – an effect that is somewhat marred by the way a few unruly clumps of hair insist on kinking out at odd angles where the layers don't quite match up.

Giving up on her hair, Kuro makes her way over from her corner of the room to the sake bottle. I'm sure she saw me put it down a moment ago, but she manages to walk right past it into my corner of the room. Odd. We're face to face, scarcely a foot apart, when she says, as if by way of explanation, "I can't take it anymore" and proceeds to give my sash a sharp tug. It slithers bonelessly to the floor. I swallow hard. "Ummm…Kuro-chama?"

"Your yukata," she says, grabbing one side of the aforementioned garment in each hand and opening it wide. The rest of her sentence is nearly lost to the sound of blood rushing in my ears, "It was tied wrong, idiot." I am suddenly very glad I opted to wear my camisole.

"I see…" I manage, weakly.

"It's always left over right, not right over left," she continues, mercifully proceeding to close the yukata properly (her fingertips passing dangerously close to my bare thigh in the process).

"What?"

"It's wrapped left over right. The only time it's ever right over left is for people who've died."

"Oh." I swallow again.

"Hold this closed." I comply and she bends down to retrieve the discarded sash. "Watch me. There's a specific way to tie an obi and it sure is hell isn't the same way you tie your shoelaces." I do as I'm told (if only to avoid eye contact), but her hands are too distracting for me to get any useful instruction from the exercise. They are passing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off of them through the thin cotton, but they somehow never make direct contact with anything but the obi.

"Got it?"

"Got it." I smile back reassuringly, and make a mental note to ask the head priest about tying obis later, in case we come to another world that wears them.

"Also," she says, tugging at the now tied obi, "the bow always goes in the back."

"Why's that Kuro-chan?"

Her red eyes narrow at the nickname, but she answers anyway. "Traditionally only courtesans wear them in the front. I think the reason has something to do with it being easier to remove that way. I forget."

An image of just how easily she'd sent my own obi tumbling to the floor a moment ago flashes, unbidden before my eyes, but I force a laugh. "An important concern in that line of work, I'm sure."

"Hmm." She's finished with the obi now, so she reaches up to adjust my collar. "That'll have to do." As she pulls her hands away I start to relax, only to inhale sharply when the tips of her fingers accidentally skim along the side of my neck.

"Did I get your hair?"

"Yep." I direct my scattered focus into a pout. "Kuro-rin is such a meanie."

"Tche. I need a drink." She abruptly steps away and plops herself down next to the tray.

"Now you're talking." I snatch up the bottle just as her hand is about to close around it. She scowls. My laugh comes mostly on its own this time as I take a seat next to her. Due to an embarrassingly large amount of practice I'm into the bottle in under half second. I'm used to drinking alone, more often than not, so I'm not completely sure how different it is from the way things were done in Celes, but Syaoran was explaining to me the other day that in some places (for example Clow and Nihon) it's customary when drinking to fill the other person's glass instead of your own, so when I finish pouring the first glass I put it in front of Kuro instead of next to me. She inclines her head slightly, then picks up the bottle and fills my cup.

"Cheers."

* * *

"Well, it's official: we drank all night!" I stretch out in the faint morning light that streams through the shoji screens then drain the last of my cup. "The alcohol in this country is delicious! I'd drink more if we had any." Kuro's eyes narrow.

"So…when we were in Outo…was that all an act?"

"What?"

"When you got drunk and started 'meowing' all over the place."

Oh _that_. I give her a wide smirk. "Nope, that was reeeeal. Not that we were _really_ drinking. It only happened in a game after all. Although, it _felt_ as though someone had put a spell on me, you know?" Her expression, just moments ago relaxed by alcohol and casual conversation, darkens into a scowl. "Ha! You're making such a suspicious face! It's like you think I'm lying or something."

"Yeah."

I snort. "I knew it. Kuro-rin's face is so easy to read."

"Even so, it's not my business," she says quietly, pausing to drain the last of her bottle, "since it seems you don't plan to speak honestly."

My heart rate kicks up, but my smile remains firmly intact. I'm still okay. It's a casual comment. She doesn't know anything. "Maybe I will, what are you talking about?"

"Alright," she says, each word seeming to fall carefully into place, "when that guy, Souseki, was talking about the statue of Yasha…he mentioned the name Ashura and your face suddenly turned pale. Why is that?"

I underestimated you, Kuro-chama. I didn't think you'd notice, but you did. I guess I'll just have to be more careful. Looking at your face now, watching it shift and darken as you realize I'm not going to answer, is like physical pain. I can feel the corners of my smile dipping the longer I stare, but I don't break eye contact. Neither do you.

A well timed wake-up call rescues me. You're disappointed in me, I know (Kuro-rin's face is easy to read, after all), but if you knew what I'd done (and what I still plan to do) you'd hate me. Although…I don't know, judging by that look in your eyes, maybe you're already starting to.


	2. Day 1: Tent

"This is…cozy," I murmur, pulling back a tent flap.

Wherever Mokona and the others are now, it's much too far away for the translation magic to reach us. Even so, Kuro seems to react to my tone. "Tche," is all she says, but the way her inexplicably black eyes narrow at me makes me mentally tack-on, _Would you rather sleep outside? _

"I suppose not." I flash her a wide grin. She raises an eyebrow in response, but says nothing. It's pitch-dark inside the tent, but the rapidly fading daylight is just enough to make out four canvas walls, each perhaps two yards across. There are other shapes as well, but they aren't distinct enough to make much sense of. There's one thing I'm certain of, however: there is a magical object inside this tent.

Ever since we arrived in this world I've been sensing hazy waves of power coming from all sides. The feeling is not nearly as strong as I'm used to from living in Celes, but it's a great deal more than I've sensed in a long while. The familiar sensation of ambient magic prickling against my skin is a desperately needed comfort under the circumstances. I have no idea where _we_ are, much less the children, and I have no idea how we're going to find them again. They might not even be in this world. I have no idea _why_ we're here, either. All I know for certain is that, shortly after the sky cracked open and we were dragged into this world, we were surrounded by an entire battalion of mounted soldiers.

They sported a variety of weaponry and, based on the deadly confidence in their matching black eyes, they certainly knew how to use it. Between the two of us, we surely could have taken down a large chunk of them, but there had been _hundreds_, not to mention their mounts. I had never seen anything quite like the reptilian creatures they were riding before, but if I had to give them a name, I'd say that they most closely resembled drakes – a being of Valerian legend thought to have gone extinct thousands of years before my sister and I were born. The drakes of legend could breathe fire and I was not looking forward to finding out if these could do the same.

One rider pulled out in front of the rest and prepared to speak. I flashed him my best harmless smile and subtly tapped Kuro's hand (which had been making its way towards Souhi's hilt). She grudgingly returned it to her side.

"_futaritomo, doushite koko ni iru_?" the rider said, shattering my hopes of talking our way out of this. That was, until Kuro replied. She spoke too quickly for me to catch more than a syllable or two, but the rider seemed to understand and he wasn't happy with whatever Kuro had said. In the next few seconds he had dismounted from his drake and was charging at us, sword drawn. _Never leave the talking to Kuro, apparently._ The soldier had either underestimated her (she _did_ look much less threatening out of her armor, I suppose) or he was incredibly unworthy of his rank, based on just how quickly he ended up flat on his back with the tip of Souhi inches from his throat.

The second soldier to dismount rushed at _me_, though he seemed much warier than his comrade. This one had a halberd with a decent amount of reach, so I decided that getting behind him and avoiding the blade altogether would be in my best interest. I took a running start and, using the base of the pole and the startled soldier's armored shoulder as launch points, flipped myself up and over him. Before he could turn around, I swept his feet out from under him and delivered a sharp, incapacitating blow to the side of his head that had him crumpling, unconscious, to the ground.

From there I get a little fuzzy on the specifics, but by the time the long, dark haired general (who looked suspiciously like the statue of King Yasha) called a stop to the conflict, both Kuro and I had a significant pile of unconscious bodies and not a scratch yet. We'd have been in trouble if they'd wised up and sent the entire remaining army at us at the same time, but for some reason they'd kept coming in twos, threes and fives. The general said something in Nihon-go (or some language similar enough that Kuro could understand) that was apparently directed at us because Kuro gave him back a terse reply. After a few more exchanges, however, Kuro's tone became decidedly less hostile and the remaining soldiers seemed to slowly relax. _I suppose Kuro _can_ handle the talking sometimes_.

Kuro grunted agreement to something the general had said and proceeded to carefully situate an unconscious soldier on the back of a drake. She nodded at me to follow suit (I assumed anyway), and one or two soldiers dismounted to give us a hand. Soon every soldier was mounted again, and just when I thought this exchange could not get any stranger, Kuro mounted one of the conscious soldier's drakes, squeezing in side-saddle behind him. A soldier at my left offered me an arm up and, after a reassuring nod from Kuro, I accepted it and we set off towards the army camp.

When we arrived we were shown to this tent. Why, I'm still not sure. The gesture itself implies hospitality, but the suspicious glances we received the entire journey here, combined with the location (the very center of the camp – a.k.a. the most difficult location to escape from should we be so inclined) gives me more of a being-held-captive vibe. I'd love to ask Kuro her thoughts on the situation, but Mokona's absence makes that virtually impossible. There is no translation magic nearby to convert Nihon-go into Celesian anymore, just whatever magic is being given off by that object sitting at the center of the tent.

It has the same energy I've been feeling since entering the camp, meaning that, whatever the object is, it's fairly ubiquitous here, making it by default either a weapon or something domestic. The latter seems more likely, and something about the waves of power coming off of it (_pleasantly warm and feather light_) feels intimately familiar. On impulse I decide to make my way over to the object and give it a quick tap. The tent is immediately flooded to daylight brightness. Behind me, at the tent's entrance, Kuro winces and grumbles something in Nihon-go.

It's just light magic. I laugh out loud with a mixture of relief and nostalgia. Now that I can see clearly, I'm glad that I sensed the object before laying eyes on it or I might not have felt nearly so comfortable touching it. In Celes, we had clear glass orbs that, once touched, would ignite into miniature suns and float along beside you. However, _this_ object (laying, I now see, on a low, obsidian pedestal) is quite a bit smaller than a glow orb – in fact it's little bigger than a robin's egg. In addition, while glow orbs have no discernible color even when lit, this object shines a murky crimson that subtly graduates in color along the edges of the carefully cut edges of the crystal surface. Looking at it now, it seems a little sinister despite the warm, familiar sensation it's quietly radiating.

I refocus on Kuro as she shuts the tent flap behind her and moves to sit on the single, narrow futon that takes up much of the left side of the tent. She levels me a brief, suspicious stare before signing and taking up her usual position on the far side of the bed, closed eyes facing the canvas wall. There's only one pillow (since this is obviously a single person futon), which Kuro leaves to me, choosing to instead rest her head on her hand. It looks incredibly uncomfortable and I start to object, but give up as I realize that I have no way to speak to her and that she's unlikely to comply even if I _can _get her to understand my meaning, because Kuro's version of being nice comes along with a hefty dose of stubborn rudeness. When she wants to do you a favor, she really doesn't take no for an answer – possibly because that would require admitting she was attempting to do you a favor in the first place. I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Either way I decide to see if I can trick her into taking the pillow tomorrow – assuming we stay here that long. With that happy thought in mind, I deactivate the light crystal and slip under the covers.

We've shared a bed before, but usually, even at the less expensive inns, there's always enough room to keep a little space between us in the middle, even with me sleeping on my stomach. This futon, however, is so narrow that I literally cannot fit all the way on it except by laying on my side, back-to-back with Kuro. As I first press up against her back I can feel her stiffen. I murmur an apology and she replies with some phrase in Nihon-go that, judging by the tone, is either "_It's fine_" or "_Go to bed already, idiot_". Whatever it is she said, I can feel her muscles slowly relax again.

For some, inexplicable reason, I can feel mine relaxing too (a tension I hadn't even noticed draining from my limbs). Maybe it's her warmth or the sense of familiarity. Maybe I'm just completely exhausted by the events of the day on top of the booze and staying up all night. Whatever the reason, I slip into unconsciousness more easily than usual.


	3. Night 1: Nightmare

_**A/N:**_ So I apologize for the tide of angst that is about to follow. I swear I meant for this fic to be fluffy ;_;

"**Fai**!" I scream her name again and again, my throat as raw as my bloodied finger tips, but it doesn't keep her from falling. It never does. Instead, I have to watch her fall over and over and over and over – each time with a sickening crack of bones and splash of scarlet to stain the pristine snow. There the dream pauses, just long enough for me to memorize the wrongness of the angle of her neck and the glassy emptiness of blue eyes. I want to remember _only _what they looked like when lit with amusement or mischief, but the sight was so rare that I can no longer picture it precisely – some element of imagination is always needed to fill in the gaps. Instead, her worried eyes (the way the blue shone brightly when she held back tears), and, worst of all, that empty, soulless gaze, are what burn themselves into my memory. Once I have rebranded the image of her lifeless body behind my eyes, the scene starts all over again. There is nothing I can do, but wait till morning. I can't even make my limbs carry me over to her. The nightmare won't even allow me the comfort of holding her in my arms. I can only watch, and listen.

All the time there are whispers (growing louder by the second), whispers in the voice of _that man_. Whispers telling me that this is all my fault, that this is what I wanted, that nightmares are a small burden for someone who would condemn their own sister to death. They speak even the words that my conscious mind reels away from. They tell me that I never _truly_ loved her. They tell me that my love was a selfish, shallow kind of love unworthy of the name. What other explanation is there, they say, for so callously sacrificing her to save myself? And then, if that were not enough, they tell me that I commit an even greater sin by not valuing the life I gained by taking hers. I've had variations on this dream off and on again for years, but that last part is new (only since Kuro's little speech in Outo Country). All the same, it's nothing I haven't been through before so I try as best I can to resign myself to the nightmare. After all, I need my rest if I'm going to look for Mokona, Syaoran and Sakura in the morning.

As if summoned by my thought, I suddenly find myself staring up not at Fai, but at the princess. "**Sakura**!" She's on the ground almost as soon as her name has left my lips. Her limbs are flailed out atop the scarlet stain at odd angles that could never be confused with sleep, and her kind, green eyes do not see me anymore.

Her body fades away, but instead of repeating her fall, next the dream shows me Syaoran at the top of the gods-damned tower. I call out to him, too, but it does no good. He looks so…young…much too young. I pray that it stops there, but, of course, it doesn't. No one hears "**Mokona**!" ring out across the snowy valley, especially not the tiny, tiny creature huddled on the ground with white fur stained nearly as red as the snow that tries to swallow her up.

And then…it's Kuro's turn. I can feel my mouth working, but this time my throat refuses to form a sound. This time I watch without a word, the silence filled with _that man's_ order to kill Kuro if she gets in the way echoing over and over as she falls helplessly from an ever shortening height. This is my fault. Impossibly, her decent seems to take twice as long as it should. I want to close my eyes, but they won't close. I don't want to see this. I can't see this. I _can't_ see this. **I **_**CAN'T**_** SEE THIS! **Kuro is scarcely a foot from an icy oblivion when I finally drag my eyes open to find myself back in the tent. The nightmare is over. For now.

My heart's still trying to punch its way out of my chest, but the sound of Kuro's even breathing helps me slow it back down again. The feel of her (_warm and solid_) beside me helps even more. As I start to come back to alertness, I notice a faint scent of jasmine coming off of her yukata. It's so faint that surely the only reason I can smell it at all is that my nose is currently located right beside the edge of her collar, though I could _swear_ I fell asleep facing the other direction. Now that I think about it, I don't remember draping my arm across her stomach, either. Kuro, on the other hand, has managed (as usual) to stay in exactly the same position all night. By now she's probably used to me shifting quite a bit during the night, but this is the first time I can think of that I've ended up in quite this interesting a position. If I'm completely honest, the extra point of contact is doing a lot of good for my shattered nerves, but I'm not sure Kuro would be particularly pleased if she were to wake up like this – she values her personal space quite a bit after all and I'm strangely not in much of a mood to get on her nerves. On the other hand, if I move now I'm sure to wake her up.

"_dou suru, majo_?" Kuro's sleepy murmur startles me off the edge of the narrow futon.

"Sorry!"

"Tche." She rolls over and sits up on the futon. "_baka_." Without further unintelligible comment, she proceeds to rebraid her hair. Reflexively, I finger comb my own back into place. It seems as though Kuro has just tied the ribbon someone sticks their head in the tent and utters some string of Nihon-go. He exchanges a few more words with Kuro and she gets up to follow him outside, slipping on her sandals at the door. She nods at me to follow them.


End file.
